"Forty or fifty Titans?!" The words echoed through the camp. Shock swept across every face.
"Yes," a scout confirmed grimly. "They're clustered at the forest's edge. Too many to bypass."
Keith inhaled slowly, then spoke with finality. "That leaves us one option—we clear them out."
A team leader hesitated. "Can't we establish the base somewhere else?"
Keith didn't answer. Instead, Erwin lifted a hand, gesturing to their surroundings. The silence was heavy.
They had set out with nearly five hundred soldiers. Now, just over three hundred remained, and many were wounded—too injured to fight. Exhaustion weighed on everyone; they had marched through the night and fought all morning. To relocate now was impossible.
Keith's words held. There was no other choice but to crush the Titans at the forest's edge and secure the base here.
Everyone understood it. No one liked it.
They had numbers on their side, but the Titans were packed close, making the fight perilous. The only saving grace: the battlefield itself. Within the towering trees, the omnidirectional gear would be at its most effective. Their blades would bite deeper, their speed sharper than in the open fields.
Even so, the cost would be bloody.
Keith, Erwin, Levi, and the squad leaders gathered to plan. Among them stood familiar figures—Hange Zoe with her manic gleam, Captain Zacharias, and other veterans who would one day be the backbone of the Corps. These were survivors, the kind who had already stared death in the eye and endured.
Lock, however, wasn't invited. As a newcomer, his place was among the rank and file. He repaired his gear, ate Petra's cooking in ravenous silence, and felt his strength crawl back. Just as he leaned back, ready for a moment's rest, a soldier approached.
"You're Lock, aren't you? The captain wants you at the meeting."
Lock blinked. "Me? You're sure?"
"Of course. Come quickly—it's already started."
Lock followed, stepping into the tent that served as a command post. Conversation lulled as heads turned. His youth was impossible to miss. More than one veteran frowned. Was Keith serious, dragging a fourteen-year-old into strategy?
Keith, reading the doubt in the air, spoke firmly. "This is Lock. On his first mission beyond the walls, he independently killed seven Titans—three of them abnormal. He also confirmed critical information: Titans cannot move at night. His record speaks for itself. His insight is why he's here."
The shift was instant. Skepticism gave way to something closer to respect—or at least acknowledgment.
Strength was its own language. Lock had proven he spoke it.
He didn't bow or falter beneath their eyes. Instead, he studied the map on the table. A rough sketch of the forest stretched across it, dotted with red marks—each one a Titan.
Keith watched him with a faint nod. Erwin's gaze lingered, measuring and approving.
The discussion resumed. The plans offered were limited, circling the same theme: strike hard, strike fast. But with so many Titans clustered, no angle seemed promising. The conversation dwindled into uneasy silence.
Keith's jaw tightened. Even he wavered, uncertain.
Lock's eyes traced the map; the red dots burned into his mind. Slowly, an idea formed. He straightened.
"Captain," he said evenly, breaking the silence. "I have a plan."
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